The Cursed Child: Book 1
by Coolspygirl
Summary: Harry lived to see another day after Voldemort killed his parents, but he didn't come out completely unharmed. The killing curse might not have killed his soul, but it did kill his emotions and everything that made him human. Will the savior the wizarding world is hailing now break their society and way of life or stand up and fix it? (Original/ Better Summary) #Psychopathic Potter
1. Chapter 1

Full Summary:

Halloween was a day of celebration and candy. A day of mixed feelings both of weariness and joy. In 1981 to a particular family; however, it was a day of fear. Lily Potter and James Potter were both killed that fateful day by Voldemort, better known as You-Know-Who by the general wizarding public. An attempt to kill their one-year-old son for some reason strangely backfires leading to the downfall of the man's reign of terror. All good things must come at a cost, however. Harry might have lived to see another day, but he didn't come out completely unharmed. The killing curse might not have killed his soul, but it sure did kill his emotions and everything that made him human. Lily's love might have saved his body and a small part of his soul, but the true Harry Potter was gone. Will the savior the wizarding world is hailing now break their society and way of life in the upcoming years? Or will he stand against Voldemort and protect it?

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Chapter 1

Harry Potter sat quietly on his bed. It was dark in his small cupboard, but that didn't stop the six-year-old from waiting. The seconds turned into minutes which probably would have turned into hours if it weren't for the jingles of metal locks finally securing his cupboard door.

Harry held his breath, waiting a few more seconds in complete silence before finally hearing the sounds of footsteps residing. With an extremely sadistic smile on his face, Harry finally moved off his bed and went to the door. Not that it was a long walk, or much of a walk anyway. Reaching his lean hands up to grab at the bobby pin he had snatched from Aunt Petunia sometime last week, Harry put the round part in first, shifting it so the door lock would open easily.

Harry then slowly opened his door, smiling wider when he saw the extra metal chains stopping his door from opening all the way. Reaching his bony arm through the chains he bent his arms and turned the bobby pins around to match the way the movies had done it. In just a minute the chains keeping the door shut clattered loudly on the ground, no doubt successfully waking up the Dursleys.

Knowing it wasn't possible to smile any wider than he already was, Harry just hummed in acknowledgment at the noise he had made and walked back to his bed. Laying down, he didn't even bother to close his eye, but still listened for the sounds of frantic footsteps running up to his door.

He wasn't disappointed today. If he had attempted to leave the cupboard, he most likely wouldn't have made it to the kitchen before one of them caught up with him. Not like they would do anything even if they had seen him with their own eyes.

Harry let out an airy giggle, probably sounding insane to any onlooker, but he had also successfully almost ruined his plan. Frowning, Harry sat up as he listened. He could still hear her, breathing heavily out of fear, struggling to quickly secured all the chains back in place before he tried anything funny. Must have already locked the door Harry thought absent-mindedly.

Figuring she hadn't heard him giggle earlier, he completely sat up, rocking his long legs as he bathed in her terrified breathing. This was only just the beginning.

It was no secret Harry Potter was mentally ill. The only problem was with what?

After being dropped off at the Dursleys at the tender and delicate age of one by some unknown person, Harry Potter had been subjected to abuse. Or more specific, neglect and verbal abuse. It was no surprise after that why Harry was a late bloomer and rarely talked or did much of anything really. He didn't whine like the other children, or cry and throw a hissy fit. More importantly, to Petunia at least, he showed absolutely no sign of magic. He honestly didn't show much of anything emotion wise.

The Harry Potter during the day, even as young as he was now, was the golden picture of depressed. He was the perfect scapegoat for Dudley and a quiet punching bag. For Vernon and Petunia, he was the ideal slave. Quietly doing his chores and accepting whatever beating he earned himself for his nighttime endeavors. Fortunately, those beatings seem to have completely vanished after he was diagnosed with multiple personality disorder. What nightly endeavors might you ask?

Well, it all started the first day little four-year-old Harry had met Aunt Marge. That was the year Harry had been kicked out of the nursing room and move into his cupboard. The year Dudley learned how to scream and slap people to get what he wanted. The year Aunt Marge's dog, Ripper, died a gruesome death.

Aunt Marge was not amused when she saw her supposed nephew Harry. How frail and skinny he was. How quiet and unresponsive, her amusement turned into resentment when she learned of his drunken parents and how they got themselves killed in car crash. Her dog Ripper? He obviously didn't like Harry from the start, something Harry had surprisingly picked up on. By then Harry had slowly been raiding Aunt Petunia's kitchen of knives, plotting the days he would make them suffer.

Ripper? He was the first to go. The weakest in Harry's eyes. Something that didn't need a planned out course of action. That night Aunt Marge had left Ripper chained up around the coat hangers. Harry at four knew the basics. Dogs liked meat. Dogs liked boys like him. Either way, Ripper would follow him somehow.

With that thought in mind, Harry mimicked a smile he had seen Dudley make. Moving with an actual purpose, which was something he had never done before, he brought out the little from the leftovers he managed to swipe that day. Pulling out an old box from under his bed, Harry quickly got all the knives he snagged from Aunt Petunia and threw them in the box along with his leftovers. Moving to his cupboard door, Harry let out a sigh as it opened without much of a fight.

They obviously didn't see him as a threat as he was only four at the time and very obedient to start with. Continuing on, he quietly moved out of his cupboard and over to the front door where Ripper slept peacefully. Harry sidestepped him and opened the door, shivering as the cold air hit him. Wincing he looked down to see that Ripper had also moved, sensing the cold air. His scheming skills needed work. Still, he forged on with his plan. Reaching over he loosed the leash keeping Ripper secured to the post and gently moved it, stretching it as long as he dared without pulling on the dog's neck outside. Thankfully the leash was long enough to almost reach their mailbox, good enough.

Harry quickly ran back in to grab his box. Rushing back out the door Harry set it down and cut up the steak, making a nice line leading to the mailbox. By then Ripper was already starting to wake up so Harry knew he didn't need to bother with waking him up without getting bit. Still, he gently walked over and bent down to face Ripper, a little worried that he had left the door open a bit too long and someone would come to investigate. No one did.

Unloosening his collar was the final straw, Ripper's eyes snapped open and he let out an angry and pretty loud bark as he saw Harry fiddling with his collar. Startled, Harry jumped back, running outside out to avoid the angry dog bounding after him. The only thought he could think of was that he was going to be in big trouble. Ripper ran out to meet him, door wide open so the Dursleys could probably wake up any minute to the noise. Harry kept repeating in his mind how stupid he was as he dived for the leash, quickly securing it onto the mailbox before Ripper could reach him. Next, Harry made to go close the door but blinked when he realized it had already closed on its own. It was only him and the dog.

Harry smiled and moved closer into Ripper's biting range, congratulating himself for unloosening the collar. Ripper only growled again, following him with his eyes until Ripper decided to strick again. Harry smiled then, slowly backing away from Ripper as the dog pushed against the leash. Without the collar being secured, the base of it tightened and tightened the more Ripper fought it and before Harry knew it the dog had collapsed on the ground, not dead yet though.

Harry laughed. It was a hollow sound, just like his monotonous voice. Practically dancing over to the fallen dog, Harry grabbed the base and pulled with all his might making the base as tight as he possibly could. Ripper moved then. Legs thrashing about as he struggled and then all of a sudden the dog fell silent again but Harry wasn't done with his fun.

Grabbing the knives, Harry flipped the dog over to lay it on its side.

He thought about sticking the knife in the strangle little hole near the dog's tail, but he figured he would have to go through the trouble of hiding the knife and all. How did he know Ripper was even dead and not actually pretending so he could come back and literally bite Harry later. After a few minutes of thinking, Harry did it on impulse, sticking the knife as far down in the dog as he could. Then another question popped into his mind. Just how many knives could he fit in there?

The answer was five, by the way, leaving Harry with a sense of accomplishment and this wonderful feeling he couldn't shake. For once he understood why Uncle Vernon was so hard on him. He was weak, like Ripper, and weak people deserved to feel pain and suffering. They couldn't defend themselves, weren't smart enough too. That's why they're at the bottom. Harry couldn't wait to surpass his Uncle and be at the top, to inflict pain and suffering on everyone who opposed him.

It's why Harry couldn't shake his smile as he saw the blood running down the dog's legs. This is what power felt like, the sight of breaking someone so far beyond repair. Killing them. It felt so good.

With the air of someone who had found out he had won the lottery Harry Potter had unchained the dog and stuffed it in the box he had brought outside, not bothering to remove the knives. There was blood on the snow, but Harry didn't care. He couldn't care. Everything he had used for this night's fun had been stuffed along with the dog and placed next to the mailbox. The box Harry brought, unfortunately, didn't have a cover so he just left it the way it was, happily trudging back to the front door with one knife still placed between his clothes. The only one that wouldn't fit in the dog.

Harry went to bed that night with a smile on his face. It was the same smile that greeted his relatives that morning. The same smile that looked at his handiwork in the morning, complete with small white bugs - maggots- Harry would later learn crawling around the pierced skin.

Dudley threw up, Petunia was screeching, Vernon was furious, and Marge was wailing. The cops were called that day. A week later results pointed to Harry's fingerprints. Aunt Petunia had readily claimed that she did all the cooking and that there was no way Harry could have had his fingerprints on there before. That led to a week at a mental institute. Harry at the age of four was to be officially diagnosed as soon as he turned 11 with a mental illness that would forever follow him around as he was too young for an accurate diagnosis. The psychiatrist had debated on a term Harry couldn't remember, before coming to the conclusion that he had multiple personality disorder.

The doctor had explained that it meant having more than one personality in a dumbed down version to Harry as he went on explaining to the Dursleys that Harry might have a murderous new personality that has a nighttime trigger. They were advised to not annoy Harry until he was old enough to be put on the medication that would control his alternate personality. Harry didn't buy their crap. After Ripper Harry always had the urge to try out a new method now that he knew not breathing could kill you. Whether during the night or day, Harry just had this urge to kill something. To be superior. He honestly didn't have a second personality but he immediately knew how it could work in his favor if he acted like he did.

And so that's how the current Harry was born. While the Dursleys refrained from beating him during the day, they still treated him like dirt and locked him up in a cupboard at night. They weren't really scared of their nephew until a month later when Uncle Vernon bought Dudley four hamsters as he had asked for. No, Dudley did not take care of them, his parents did. The hamsters were honestly just decorations to satisfy Dudley.

Three days after, Harry had given two of them a bath and "forgot" them face down in the water. The third he had attempted to take downstairs to his cupboard for safekeeping when he accidentally dropped it. The poor guy was a twitching mess, so Harry dunked it in the water along with the other two. The last he successfully brought down safely and had stashed away for a months worth of torture.

Dudley was the first to see the three floating hamsters in the morning. It was also the first day in months Vernon had beat Harry. His next crime was actually a failed attempt when he had just turned five. After feeding the hamster next to nothing all week Harry had brought it to the kitchen to search for a knife to see if the girl could survive after having its legs chopped off. Harry had only found three since Aunt Petunia had failed to restock the kitchen for the third time after his weekly knife raids.

Setting to work, he was impressed when Gwen was still moving her other three legs after the last one was cut off. Maybe he could turn her into a pirate and keep her? Before he could decide if he was going to go on with his torture, he heard a scream from the doorway and reacted faster than his brain could think. Flinging the knife in his hand, he winced at how close he was to his aunt's eyes. As it was the knife just grazed her eyebrows, leaving a small wound.

"Good night Aunt Petunia," Harry had muttered in the most innocent five-year-old voice he could muster. Snatching up the bleeding and probably dead hamster and his knives, he fled the room not registering how shocked and fearful his Aunt looked. Not even a few hours later in the morning, Dudley had woken up screaming as he was met with his hamster missing a leg and bleeding unto his pillow with a knife through its body. Harry had strangely gotten off of getting beaten that day. A frantic Petunia muttering feverishly to her husband as he attempted to discipline Harry.

It was the day Harry learned another lesson. His life would be a lot easier if he just acted a bit more psychotic during the night. And as it was night-time became a battle zone for the Dursleys as they struggled to stay alive from their crazy nephew. The kid always had a knife. Petunia even had strict rules that no one was to leave their room if it was the night Harry decided to actually leave his cupboard and not just toy with them. Petunia had also installed chains on Dudley's door with a key she possessed after Harry had snuck in and tried to slit his throat. Dudley was in the hospital for weeks.

Now, Harry didn't hesitate to attack any and everyone he saw at night. What freaked everyone out the most was Harry's smile. At night you always saw the Cheshire smile with pearly straight white teeth floating in the air before you actually saw the emerald green eyes and the glistening of a knife in his hand. Which brings us back to the present.

Six-year-old Harry got up and repeated what he had done before. Unlocking the door before unlocking the chains keeping the door closed alerting the already wide awake Dursley to the threat. Again Aunt Petunia would hurriedly run down and lock the door, her terrified breathing filling Harry with joy. After doing it a generous amount of times Aunt Petunia became sluggish. To be honest, Harry himself was a bit tired so he decided to leave her a parting gift.

He quietly tiptoed towards the door once he heard her fiddling with the chains for the 10th time. With a loud bang, Harry banged his hands on the door, smiling when he heard her drop the chains.

"Betty!" Harry sang in a sing-song voice, smirking when her breathing became irregular. The tall tale sign of a panic attack. Yes, Harry Potter had given both his Aunt and cousin Anxiety, Betty was the name he would call her when he felt like stabbing something with his knife.

"Betty, let's play a game," Harry tried again, adding an unfelt slightly crazy giggle at the end as he ran his knife along the door. That kicked Petunia back into action as she secured the chains quicker than Harry had ever heard her and was up the stairs faster than a sleep-deprived woman should have gone.

Harry smirked knowing Petunia was taking Dudley on Vernon's Business trip this morning giving him the time to sleep in as the rest of the people in the house would be suffering from his nonstop noisemaking. Yes, at the age of six Harry Potter was allowed to stay home alone. Mrs. Figgs hadn't wanted him after all her cats had disappeared one night.

With a shrug, Harry settled in for the night. By the time he was diagnosed at 11, he should have complete control over the Dursleys. Of course, they might send him somewhere, but the Dursleys will be broken by then. Harry would make sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"When is the appointment?" Harry asked, his treasured knife in hand as he trailed it along the table in a bored manner. At first, no one responded, causing Harry to look up.

Like always, Dudley was nowhere to be found. The only indication that he had even shown up to breakfast was the plate of barely eaten food left on the table, no doubt in a haste to get away before Harry had seen him eating more than he was allowed too. Just the thought of knowingly making Dudley starve himself brought a sense of accomplishment to Harry's already growing list of dreadful deeds.

Dudley was not the first to break, unfortunately. He was the one; however, that was currently suffering the most from it. He was almost unrecognizable in his current state, nowhere near the same as he was back when he was six. No, present Dudley was thin, much too thin actually. A feat that had taken Harry 3 years to accomplish.

Scaring Dudley into listening to him could only take Harry so far, to get the whale of a boy to willingly not eat took a bit of research on Harry's part. Now all it took was a knife to his neck and Harry's finger shoved down his throat to make him throw up and the rest was a wrap. Harry had even ceased his noisemaking nights to sneak out and listen to Aunt Petunia gently plead Dudley to go down and eat something. Or crying to herself at night as both she and a hidden Harry watched Dudley pace back and forth, stomach growling as he thought of whether he could risk going down to take a snack or not.

Once Dudley had tried, and Harry had even let him grab a bag of chips before striking. The boy had almost lost his arm to Harry that night. It was actually his parents' tendencies to spoil Dudley that kept the boy alive for so long. Before Harry had started operation starve Dudley to death, the boy was extremely obese and was at high risk of developing diabetics. Now, he was extremely malnourished.

Even talk of abuse had started spreading around the neighborhood like wildfire. If Dudley died, no when he did, Harry would be the first to call the cops and he knew they probably would find his cupboard under the stairs suspicious. The fact that a child under their care would have died of starvation too would leave the Dursleys with some serious jail time.

And it was all just to break Vernon Dursley.

Harry hated to admit it but he failed. Aunt Petunia and Dudley had been easy enough to break, but Uncle Vernon had to defy him. The man refused to break. He wasn't the same as he was before though. Less rash and impulsive, a whole lot more calculative. It made Harry respect and despise him at the same time. He was quite tired of failing and had figured jail, (or better yet) prison would get the job down.

Even if Vernon wasn't completely broken, it didn't mean Harry didn't have close to complete control over the family. Yes, he didn't have his own bedroom, but with the way things were turning out letting Harry stay in the cupboard was actually the safer (even if it was quite abusive) option. Giving Harry the second biggest bedroom upstairs with them, even if it might lessen the charges if Dudley were to die, would be putting the trio at the mercy of an extremely sadistic child.

There wouldn't be a single safe spot in the house, unlike how things were. Harry rarely went upstairs at night, finding pleasure in staying close to a huge source of knives and kitchen utensils that could be potentially dangerous. In turn, the Dursleys never ventured downstairs for extremely obvious reasons. Unlike when he was six and would taunt them, 10-year-old Harry was restless and was constantly out and about.

Aunt Petunia abruptly stood up, snapping Harry's attention back to the present. Her eyebrows were furrowed in thought as she started clearing the dishes from the table until the only dish remaining was Dudley's barely eaten food. Harry, in turn, waited patiently for her to finish.

"I trust you will be able to explain the situation without any difficulties," Aunt Petunia muttered to her husband, hands shaking as she quickly walked away, no doubt to check if Dudley was still alive or do whatever odd things she did in the mornings to avoid seeing him. Harry brought his attention to his Uncle, raising an eyebrow in defiance as he stared.

Uncle Vernon only sighed.

"Harry, one of the requirements was to write a letter explaining how you have been for the past few years after you killed your Aunt's dog. Petunia didn't think it was necessary to list all of your rather brutal experiments but I still managed to get quite a bit of your more creative works through. I sent it last week and the information explaining whether we would have to schedule an appointment or not should be coming in today along with possible diagnostics and a list of medication and therapy choices," He explained slowly, but not in a fearful way like Aunt Petunia would have done.

Harry thought about what his uncle had said, mulling over his advantage in this situation. He didn't see how he could get anything past the doctors. There was a chance that they would turn out to be a bunch of babbling idiots, but Harry didn't try indulging his ego, not after last time. Just the thought of that bitch brought a sardonic smile on his face.

Uncle Vernon seemed to pick up on Harry's darkening mood, without uttering another word he got up and grabbed his keys, heading upstairs to no doubt smuggle Dudley out of his room and take him out to eat. Yes, Harry was well aware that the pair did that. He was extremely lenient with Dudley; however, when it came to finding clever ways to eat without Harry knowing. There was always the possibility of making Dudley throw it all up later until he was practically dry heaving anyway. Their relationship was a constant game of cat and mouse. As it turns out, the cat was always hungry.

Unlike other days, Harry had a blank face as he got up from his seat and went to grab Dudley's food. Without bothering to notify the Dursleys of him leaving, Harry unlocked the door and started walking away.

Next to his neighborhood was a run-down park which a few kids would go to play. Harry had no interest in the park, but the ghetto a few blocks down the road from it. It was about a 15-minute walk away, but the time was well spent for the rewards he would gain.

The kids watched him as he walked on their sidewalk. He didn't miss the fact that most didn't have shoes to wear and the majority looked starved. They were eyeing the plate of food he was carrying with greediness but none dared to step forward. After all, Harry was a well-known person in this particular ghetto, especially for his cruelty.

Harry in turned eyed all 10 kids, none looked older than him. With an unreadable expression on his face, he picked up a single piece of bacon and threw it on the floor right at his feet. One child immediately sprang forward, hunger evident in her eyes as she readily ate the bacon off the floor. Harry stood in front of her, waiting patiently.

The others (though jealous) still kept a safe distance away. Harry could spot one child holding on to his friend as the boy made to walk forward, no doubt to ask for some food too. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. How did they all know his tricks? Had one of the little midgets been around when he beat up the other kid last month? Either way, Harry would have to rely on his other tricks to lure the kids in. For now, he would settle for the girl.

He looked down, noticing the brown haired girl had finished the dirty bacon, chocolate brown eyes staring up at him in gratitude, hair tousled from playing and diving on the floor. The dark feeling Harry had this morning came back, but the consequences of his unique anger would be acted upon this time. The girl didn't deserve to be happy in this cruel world, not when a girl a bit older than her with the same characteristics was alive.

"Thank you, sir," The girl pipped politely, oblivious to Harry's widening smile. The same Cheshire cat grin that told Dudley Harry was going to attempt to murder him again. The same grin one kid must have recognized, the one holding his friend. The kid was rather small but had bright blue eyes and black hair. With a frightened squeak, he turned and bolted. Eyes widening in understanding, the rest must have picked up on the warning signs and made a mad dash away. The girl turned, confused at the sudden behavior. Harry took his chance and grabbed her hair, tugging it close to him and drawing a pained noise from the girl. Then a look of recognition.

"Scrooge?" She asked, fear evident in her voice as tears threaten to escape her eyes. Harry didn't respond but threw her onto the floor. The girl was quick to catch herself, only managing to get cuts on her hands and elbows but Harry wasn't done with her. As she turned to say something to him, Harry kicked her face.

The girl screamed and curled up in a ball, shoulders shaking. Harry gently put down his plate of food before crouching in front of the girl. Taking a fistful of her hair, he pulled her face out of her protective position to see just what he had done to her.

The answer? He had broken her nose. There was blood everywhere and her lips even looked busted. Tears streamed down her face as she shook.

"You ate my bacon," Harry stated casually. "Give it back," he added as an afterthought. It had been so long since he had done something as wonderful as this before. The girl just sobbed, which was understandable as she could have been only 7. Like with Dudley, Harry just sighed in disappointment before using one finger to pry her mouth open. Sticking as many fingers as her mouth would allow him, he shoved them in. Harry bathing in the sounds of her gags until she lurched forward, the eaten bacon came soaring out along with a variety of foods she must have eaten earlier. None of it was edible; however, as it did come out as vomit. Still, Harry wasn't done. He shoved his hands down her throat and again she gagged and threw up and so the cycle repeated.

Between intervals of being gagged, the girl would struggle to get enough air in her lungs and cry at the same time. Harry was honestly surprised the girl didn't pass out from lack of oxygen.

When she finally couldn't cough up anything else Harry let his grip on her hair loose, watching in satisfaction as she fell in her own pool of vomit. He normally didn't beat up the kids this badly as he still wanted to be allowed to enter the ghetto, but now that Vernon had revealed he might have shared some of Harry's more darker deeds, Harry knew he was going to be in a mental institute for the rest of his life. Maybe not the rest of his life, but he would most definitely be shipped away. The girl's parents were probably broke anyway, they wouldn't have the money or resources to file a lawsuit. Better yet, they wouldn't have the money to take the girl to a hospital for the broken arm he was about to give her.

He had been around enough to know that the kids here only ate one meal a day, and it looked like the girl had already eaten her meal. She'd probably starve to death or give in to the pain between now and tomorrow morning. Smile fading as he got off his temporary vengeful spree, Harry calmly knelt down and bent her arm, breaking it with a startlingly show of practice.

The girl screamed, and Harry could only smile as he grabbed his food and continued down into the ghetto, whistling a tune that sounded oddly similar to that of the King of Despair, which was actually quite fitting for him. The eery tune floated through the air. Mothers and children alike peering at him through their windows. Harry didn't miss the Christmas Carol reference the girl had let slip. While he did have an uncanny resemblance in terms of greediness to Ebenezer Scrooge, Harry considered himself to be better than that old hag.

He quite liked his life. Controlling the weak, striking fear on the poor, and bankrupting the rich. Not like he had done the latter yet, but it was on his to-do list for when he becomes older and was able to land a sweet paying job. Until then he would have to settle for destroying children's lives and trading food for different colored collectible knives. Harry knew that the guy selling them could very well just be painting a bunch of random knives, but they were pretty and it wasn't even Harry's own food he was sacrificing so he didn't mind. As long as the knives would be able to inflict pain unto another person, Harry didn't really mind where they came from. As he made it to the little shack at the far side of the street he was on, Harry couldn't help but sigh as he saw the door padlocked shut.

Harry was no stranger to locks and the art of picking one, but when the door is locked up it usually meant the bastard wasn't home. Off pulling another heist Harry concluded as he walked up to the door. Any other day Harry would have brought the now cold food up to the dark murky river the people of this neighborhood were currently using to dump his trash in, but all his malice had been released on the girl and he was in a more impatient mood. The amount of fun Dudley must be having with him gone, the thought just won't settle with Harry's conscience. He had thrown 10 knives at the boy last week, it was only fair the kid should endure 11 attempts this week. The sooner the better after all.

With a clatter, the locks fell to the ground after Harry had used his treasured knife to pick it. Walking in, he carelessly threw the food on a big table before venturing to the back to pick from the large assessments of weapons. In the end, Harry chose 4 pocket knives and a pretty knife laying in the back. The actual blade was shiny silver, the hilt decorated with emerald green jewels. The knife itself was an exact replica of Harry's treasured knife. The only difference being that his had blue jewels and a little picture of a lily flower in the middle.

With his objectives for today complete, Harry started heading home. By the time he got back, the sun was high in the sky and lunch at the Dursley household had officially started. Walking up on the right side of the house, Harry glanced in through the window. There was Dudley, a fork of steak shoved in his mouth as he savored the taste. As Harry used to he was wearing big shirts to hide his skinny frame since all the new ones Dudley got would appear lying on his bed torn the next day. Dudley had, in turn, begged his parents not to buy anything else for him or Harry might one day have the urge to stab him again while destroying the items. His parents had begrudgingly complied.

Years of enduring Harry's antics were what saved Dudley that day he looked up to see Harry glowering at him through the windows. In a flash, he was gone, racing up the stairs like a madman. Harry just blinked, calmly walking over to the mailbox to see if the information for his appointment had come in. He was quite relieved when he saw two letters addressed to him. One was about his appointment and the other was a strange letter addressed to him by a guy named Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witches and Wizards. With a snort he threw the latter away, not amused by Dudley's friends' prank. He had actually civilly snuck up behind Dudley to warn him that he didn't appreciate his friends trying to prank him some time ago in the past.

How could Dudley have defied his wishes like that? Had he been too lenient? Maybe actually aiming for Dudley's arms and legs along with throwing 14 knives may straighten the jerk up and teach him a lesson. With that in mind, Harry tossed the letter on the ground. The breeze would take it away in the morning anyway. He had more pressing things to sort out and more important people to torture.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Tomorrow," Harry questioned in a deadpan that would make any sane person cringe. Dudley was long gone, a plate of barely eaten food left on the table. The sight of it made Harry remember just what his friends had done. A different and brutal plan came to mind to teach Dudley not to disobey him ever again. Maybe he had been too soft over the years for Dudley to even dream of it. No, that wouldn't do. What kind of person was he if he let something he worked so hard on go to waste because of negligence.

Aunt Petunia whimpered, hand shaking as she held the details in her hands. Uncle Vernon had gone out, surprisingly he hadn't gone with Dudley which just gave him enough time to deal out the punishment. It was odd though, in Harry's opinion at least. Uncle Vernon, while also not obese was by no means a skinny man. Harry couldn't think of a more insane and stupid woman (except Aunt Petunia, bless her soul) who would have a secret affair with that vile man.

"The appointment is tomorrow?" Harry tried again, voice revealing just how much he trusted his Aunt's judgment. She shook her head, trembling as she held the letter to her chest.

"The appointment is 2 days before your birthday. It's quite far away though. We could all go for a little trip beforehand," She tried again. Harry would have agreed if he didn't know her as well as she knew herself. He didn't doubt that they would go on a trip. When they had the money (or when Dudley looked like he would faint due to his starvation) the Dursleys always took a trip and made sure to make it lasted all day so Harry couldn't have any fun messing with them. In the hotel at night, they would walk him to his room and leave to go eat out or something. That way Harry couldn't secretly follow them to find the room they bought for themselves. Dudley had free reign to eat all day and the trip usually took about a week to 4 days minimum leaving Dudley enough time to gain weight.

It also meant torture for Harry as he couldn't really have fun for a week or so. If the appointment was 2 days before his birthday, it gave Harry approximately 4 days (not counting today) before he had to show up. It sounded like the typical punish Harry help Dudley trip.

"But Aunt Petunia, Dudley promised to go with me to feed the sick children in the ghetto not far from here," Harry whispered, faking the disappointment in his voice.

"He would never agree to go out with a bastard like you" Aunt Petunia shot back, paling as she did so. Harry sat back in silence before reaching in his back pocket to grip at one of the smaller knives. In one smooth motion, he flung it carelessly at her. Aunt Petunia let out a screech as the small knife went soaring. Hitting the ground, she started sobbing as the knife impaled itself on the wall behind her. Where her brain would have been if not for her panic.

"Let's try this again, shall we. Not counting today we have 4 days before I have to go anywhere near those doctors. I do have plans with Dudley; however, so let's not resort to name-calling and accusations," Harry said, voice taking on the signature monotone he became known for throughout the neighborhood.

"I refuse to go on a trip any earlier than necessary. At most a day should be enough for any vacation you have planned for us. Now if you would excuse me," Harry stated, standing up from his comfy chair. He totally bypassed Aunt Petunia, who was still crying on the floor, to dig his knife out of the wall. The woman should have known to keep her mouth in check around him. She would likely go upstairs to pray to God again, not that Harry believed in him. A supernatural being that dishes out punishment to those that defies him? How absurd. Where was God when he was being beaten and starved at the tender age of four? Nowhere.

Harry knew only she herself even bothered was in hopes that God would rise up and save her now that her nephew has decided to fend for himself and become so cold. If he was real, she had something valuable to gain. If not for that hope Harry didn't know what would have kept her sane. Another hole in his plan to break them all.

With a sigh he made his way upstairs, aware of Aunt Petunia's gasp as she slowly stopped crying. It was justified as Harry rarely went upstairs and only at night. Ignoring her, he turned and walked to Dudley's room. With one knock the door flew open and the boys made eye contact.

"H~Harry?" Dudley whimpered, hands shaking as he gripped the door. He did have enough common sense not to shut the door and call the cops. Something he had done in the past. Harry always managed to get revenge and make his way out of most situations, including ones like those.

"I think it's time I end your suffering," Harry bluntly stated, eyeing Dudley. The boy had immediately gone from scared to confused in under a few seconds.

"End my suffering?" Dudley questioned, grip on the door loosening,

"I have a new set of rules now," Harry continued, holding up 6 letters with a strange seal.

"Your friends have been rather persistent in this joke about Hogwarts, I've had numerous of these stupid letters flying at me. The mailbox is overrun with them, owls have started knocking on the kitchen window and don't get me started on all the whispering I hear outside," Harry ranted. The more he spoke the smaller Dudley seemed to appear.

"M~my friends d~did that?" He whimpered, looking into Harry's furious eyes.

"Yes, they did. One thing caught my interest though. How did your friends know I slept in a cupboard?" Harry asked, watching for a reaction. Dudley looked like he would faint, sweat forming on his forehead as he thought of how he would get out of this situation.

"You've been telling your friends about me?" Harry continued, voice betraying nothing related to his thoughts. With that single question, Dudley burst into tears knowing he was literally a dead man no matter what he said.

"I thought so, from now on I don't want to see you eat a drop of food. If you by some miracle manage not to starve before they send me off you can do whatever you want but these last few days will be punishment days for you. Let's see if you can survive the Hunger Games," Harry smirked, turning he walked back downstairs, past a teary-eyed Petunia who no doubt heard every word of their conversation.

Harry himself couldn't have been more elastic. The remaining two days were spent "cleaning" the house. More like picking out every piece of leftover food Dudley could eat. Dudley's room had also been thoroughly "cleaned", more-so than the rest of the house. Dudley wasn't permitted to leave the house anymore as Harry didn't want to risk that boy eating. Water was also off limits as one could survive a bit longer with some water and creativity.

The rare times Dudley was allowed to escape was with Harry by his side for their "workouts", which was basically Harry chasing Dudley for hours with the threat of stabbing him to death in some forest if he was to be caught. Not only did it ensure Harry himself wasn't going to end up overweight, but it also made it possible to be able to be the best in the athletic department. These "workouts" also put more strain on Dudley's skinny frame hence quicker weight loss and a speedier death.

The day of the trip came quicker than expected and after a simple and rather polite request made by Harry, the family was to leave for the hotel at night, only having tomorrow to go sightseeing before the dreaded appointment. How fortunate that Dudley would fall sick just before they were bound to leave. The joy of getting rid of Harry overcoming the urge to make sure Dudley was okay is what kept the family from canceling the appointment and making the 4-hour journey to Wellesley Hospital in York UK.

As if fate had somehow chosen to be on Harry's side Dudley was still in no shape to go out or do anything all night and through the better part of the next day. The hotel staff had been lenient enough to let them stay on the condition that Harry remained in the Dursley's room as not to take up much space. The cooking staff had also been kind enough to bring up food for the boys throughout the day. Harry happily ate his portion and didn't bother stopping Dudley from eating as it came back up an hour later anyway. If it was from the sickness or his skinny body not being able to keep it down Harry didn't know, but it worked. Only water was not allowed to enter Dudley's mouth. Instead, any bottle offered was chunked out the window at a random person walking around or released in the drain.

All too soon it was time for his appointment. With disdain, he shot a few distasteful looks at Petunia as he walked in through the magnificent doors. The whole place screamed expensive and elegant, with his recent behavior he couldn't help but realize just how screwed he was.

"We are here for his appointment," Aunt Petunia started nervously, casting a worried look at her son who was swaying on his feet. The lady at the counter, most likely middle-aged and already fed up with life just cast Dudley a bored look.

"He has anorexia simple as that. I believe you got the wrong type of hospital lady," the lady said in an obnoxious drawl, painted nails typing away at her computer.

"Next in line please?" She called, ignoring Harry's relieved sigh. Life really loved him.

"No, I think you misunderstood. I'm here for my nephew Harry," Aunt Petunia tried again, nodding towards the devastated boy. The woman raised an eyebrow but still went into her drawers and got them a form.

"Fill it out and bring it up front when you're done, the psychiatrist is busy with an interesting patient right now," The lady reconsidered. Petunia muttered a quick thank you as she hurried to choose a seat and get to work. Uncle Vernon had not accompanied them on their trip, instead, he was at another hospital seeking treatment for Dudley's dematerializing health. Now that the root of the problem was going away the family was quick to try and rebuild their lost strength. It made Harry a bit resentful at just how much he had been neglecting his goal of breaking his family.

"Why are you here?" A girl with blond hair whispered, bright blue eyes staring curiously at Harry. She wore a pretty dress and had a face full of gothic make-up despite looking the same age as Harry. She was seated to his right, Aunt Petunia to his left and Dudley on the other side for "safety reasons". Turning to look at the girl Harry shrugged.

"You?" He whispered back.

"Nothing important," The girl answered nonchalantly turning away from Harry as if he had failed some important test. As if remembering something, she quickly turned back.

"Actually, I'm here because I stole my mom's credit card and bought a bunch of random stuff with it," The girl stated proudly, eyes gleaming with mischief. Harry himself couldn't have cared less about the girl or whatever stupid thing she did to end up in a mental institute. He also knew enough to know not to admit to doing a crime as smart people could latch on to that and use whatever careless thing you spilled to their advantage.

"Splendid," Harry murmured in an almost bored tone, eyes roaming around the waiting room at all the kids and their parents in the same predicament as him. Surely they weren't all here for being caught doing such mundane things.

"What do you mean splendid? Is that all you have to say? I couldn't see you pulling off half the things I already did," The girl sneered, with a huff she flipped her hair, slapping Harry in the face with it. Harry, so used to being treated with the uttermost respect, was extremely quick to act before thinking. In a swift movement, a small pocket knife was out in his hand. Grabbing the girl's long blond hair, he yanked it and swiped his knife through her locks dangerously close to her head.

The girl screeched and Aunt Petunia only had enough time to gasp before Harry had the girl thrown on the floor, the pool of hair covering the knife in his hand.

"Young man!" The lady at the desk warned as the girl turned red in anger.

"How dare you!" the girl screamed, lunging at Harry from her spot on the floor. Harry quickly stood up from his seat, letting the girl hit his chest pushing him back into the chair. Grabbing her hair again, he tugged it up, bringing his knife to rest it on her neck. The girl gasped at the feeling of the knife, and with a smirk, Harry brought his mouth up to her ears.

"I forgot to mention, I'm here for killing and bullying others which leads me to a more interesting question. How long do you think you would bleed after I press my blade into the artery in your neck," Harry purred, happy at being able to still be himself in a mental hospital, granted he wasn't admitted in yet, but who cares about the small details.

The girl looked like she was about to have a mental breakdown at the thought of dying. Before Harry could decide if he was going to do anything in broad daylight reality hit.

A strong hand gripped the hand Harry had his knife secured in, another pair of hands were drawing the distressed girl away from him.

"Sir, I believe you're to be brought in for armed assault," A male voice recited. Harry sighed as he spotted the word security on the guy's vest. Three security guards were surrounding him where he sat. One with the girl in his arms as he comforted her. Another, a female actually, stood a bit farther away with a taser gun pointed at Harry in case he was to attack.

Harry sighed and cast a look at Aunt Petunia who looked completely at a loss for what to do. Fortunately, his saving grace was the doctor he was to meet.

"You can't take away my patient. He'd just find his way back as I can guarantee you he is mentally ill and we have a forensic psychiatrist at our hospital. May I be allowed to diagnose him and possibly enter him into our facility? It'll save you a bunch of work," The man chuckled, white lab coat shining like a pair of angel wings.

The security guard looked unsure for a bit, before finally nodding his head at the female. Lowering her gun, she moved to escort the by now dumbfounded blondie away. Harry wondered if he could get away with sticking his tongue out at the brat but decided against it.

"He said I can go," Harry challenged coldly, turning his attention to the remaining security guard who was still holding onto his hand. With a snort, the man brought his other hand up and snatched the knife away. With a nod of respect at the doctor, he was off, bounding away with his coworkers to wherever they came from.

"Thank you, sir," Aunt Petunia squeaked, rising to her feet shakily.

"No need for that, come along now we have other patients to see," The doctor reminded her. Grabbing her hand, he gently guided her to his office. Harry got up trailed along behind Dudley only turning to look at the blond girl at the other side of the room. Her mom seemed to be standing there trying to negotiate something with the three guards as she was holding onto her less than thrilled daughter in an iron-like grip. The girl in question was glaring daggers at him. With a final huff, she gifted him with the glorious partings of her polished middle finger before turning away to face her family.

If he wasn't so far away, Harry had no doubt he would also leave a parting gift to show just how much he appreciated the idiot. The girl was lucky this time and for Harry, he honestly hoped he could meet her again. Preferably at night in a rundown alley, that would be fun.

"Sir, this way," The doctor called again. Harry blinked realizing he had fallen behind. With a sigh, he sped up and entered the small but rather fancy and put together office. Five chairs were pulled up to this big desk, on it was a slim file.

"Have a seat," The doctor chuckled as he made himself comfy. Aunt Petunia sat tensely on her seat as Dudley seemed to collapse out of exhaustion onto his. Harry took his time, choosing to view all the awards on the walls and maybe checking to see if there was a window he could chunk himself out of if anything were to happen. Once he was seated the meeting began.

"My name is Dr. Greenville. I would like to start off by asking a few questions," Dr. Greenville said with a bright smile on his face.

"Have you had any run-ins with the police?" He continued, looking through a few papers from the file Harry was sure had information on him.

"Yes sir, back when I was four," Harry muttered.

"And what happened?" Dr. Greenville pressed.

"I killed my Aunt's dog," Harry continued nonchalantly. The doctor didn't seem as surprised as Harry thought he would. Was this really as common as he thought?

"Mrs. Would you say he is cruel to animals?" The doctor pressed, this time looking at Aunt Petunia. Instead of answering, his Aun only gave a stiff nod. The doctor wrote something else down before continuing.

"Have you been in physical fights?" The doctor continued. Harry shook his head no.

"Than what would you call what happened outside my office young man?" Dr. Greenville warned eyes narrowed. Harry couldn't be bothered, with a slight laugh he brushed it off.

"It was my first fight, most of the kids I would beat up can't really fight back so I wouldn't call it a fight," Harry boasted, eyes staring at the cliche pair of glasses perched on the dude's nose. Did every doctor look so old and wear the same contact lenses? Harry couldn't help but think it was a secret requirement.

"Have you ever run away from home?" Greenville continued, much to Harry's dissatisfaction. Completely bored with the entire experience Harry folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. As he nodded no he lifted his feet to rest crossed on the desk. If the doctor had noticed he didn't mention it.

"Have you been suspended or expelled from school?" Dr. Greenville tried again, he got the same answer.

There was a significant pause as the doctor wrote a bunch of random notes in the small notebook he had waiting on his desk. After a moment of reviewing what he had down, he turned his attention back to the family.

"Tell me about your Aunt's dog, why did you kill it?" Greenville pressed. Harry only gave him a brief disgusted look before huffing.

"Why should I tell you?" Harry sneered, the little gratification of the doctor saving him from juvie having been exhausted and long gone.

"Because I can still have you arrested for carrying around weapons," The doctor shot back, voice already losing some joy it previously held. Harry was dumbfounded. How had this old man got him in a checkmate so effortlessly? Was this the power of manipulation? No, blackmail. That was still a form of manipulation though, wasn't it?

"Her dog was weak and pathetic, it didn't deserve to live," Harry admitted after his shock of being one-upped subsided.

"The people you bully, do you have the same thoughts about them?" The doctor asked in a small voice. Harry nodded, a smirk on his face.

"Well, that is all I need to see. The boy may not be what I thought he was, however. Further research will have to be done along with proper and delicate research on the information provided. I will send a letter along with a list of possible medication to stomp out the violence. If he is what I think I fear he will never be completely cured and his illness will find other ways to manifest. A follow-up appointment should be placed to sort out the rest along with further information on our client. I'm sorry I couldn't do much now as I prepared for the wrong disorder. I'm sorry," Dr. Greenville rambled, neatly packing up the papers scattered around his desk.

"Thank you, sir," Aunt Petunia said with a sigh of relief. Harry got up and Dudley made to do the same until he suddenly collapsed, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Dr. Greenville was quick to jump into action, hands up against his cousin's neck before falling to his side.

"I don't feel a pulse," The doctor muttered softly. Aunt Petunia broke down then, sobbing and praying to God for her baby to be alright. Greenville had a phone in his hand and was ordering for an emergency truck. Harry, not feeling an ounce of regret or panic, couldn't help the smirk on his face. Dudley was finally close to being dead. It was only a matter of minutes before his plans could manifest on its own.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Harry was in serious awe at the medical field and Dudley's metabolism. In those few minutes, his shrimp of a cousin had ample time to peacefully move on and yet he didn't. Instead, Dr. Greenville managed to get a team of doctors to materialize out of thin air and run quick tests to start up Dudley's heart. In less than 10 minutes both he and Petunia were sitting in the back of an ER, his aunt holding onto his cousin's limp hand feverishly muttering her thanks to the staff as they worked to keep him stable.

Harry was the opposite. How had things escalated so quickly anyway? Why wasn't anything working in his favor anymore? With a pout he sat at the back, eyes devoid of any insight into his mind as he stared aimlessly at the white walls, mind starting to go blank.

He had failed, again. Harry's hand twitched, the urge to just get up and slit his cousin's throat overwhelming him quite suddenly.

Fingers shaking, he moved his hand into his pocket, securing it around the knife he had used to cut the girl's hair. 'Why didn't he just do that?' Harry thought hungrily, eyes latching onto his pale cousin's neck.

No, he had to control himself. His age won't save him from becoming a death row convict for such an act. Harry let out a soft breath, hands loosening around his weapon as he calmed down.

Harry was by no means an emotional person, quite the opposite actually. The only significant weakness Harry knew about himself was his compulsions. Harry, as rash as he may seem, was quite intelligent and could always tell when giving in to his compulsions would be beneficial to him. Most of the time they were, but they were normally over little things. A perfect example is when he would steal something or beat up an annoying kid.

To a normal person, what he was currently struggling with was simply an urge. It was like attempting not to scratch at a wound, knowing indulging in the temporary relief would only make the wound worse. For Harry, the feeling was multiplied and could be acted on even if Harry himself knew it was incredibly wrong. Most of the time, his compulsions were fueled by his fascination and curiosity, like when he stuck all the knives in his aunt's dog after a brief moment of hesitation.

When he was caught up in trying to defy his compulsions, it was like his body and brain was trying to fight for control. It drained a lot out of him and left a small gap in his thought pattern. Maybe it was because he normally gave in to his urges instantly without so much as a thought against it, but it was sure hard to win against himself. Harry figured it was a rather disappointing substitute for emotions. Needless to say, Harry rarely went against his urges, but as it seems one trip to the doctors had him developing morals. How pathetic.

"We're almost there, we need to get ready to have the patient lifted. Ma'am, please sit down," One of the paramedics commanded. Startled, Harry's hand grabbed his knife harder and his eyes moved over to the original owner of the voice. The woman was standing in front of his cousin barking out instructions, how unfortunate Dudley's neck was hanging on the other side of the bed leaving the perfect stabbing place to taunt Harry.

Harry slowly got up, little voice in his head weakly attempting to explain that being in prison was not fun at all and even attempting to do damage would screw him over later if the nurses decided to inquire on how Dudley nearly starved to death. It was that thought process that brought Harry's compulsive episode to an end and a small lapse to take over as Harry stared blankly at the team of doctors that was getting ready to land. Hand unclenching the knife in his pocket.

"Sir, sit down," A doctor commanded, blue eyes blazing with urgency before fading into worry when she took got a better look at Harry.

"Get me two nurses over here, I think the boy is going into shock," The woman shouted, turning her back on Harry as she along with the staff lifted his cousin and hurried into the hospital. Harry only stared on, not able to focus on anything but the fact that in reality, he hadn't failed at all. No, his plan still had room to manifest.

"No, the boy is~," Aunt Petunia tried to explain, but her weak argument fell on deaf ears as Harry was lead away by the two nurses to his own room. The walk wasn't a long one and Harry found himself sitting quite contently on his hospital bed as the nurses looked over his medical file. He couldn't find it in himself to be bothered as they talked to each other in hushed voices. It was only when one nurse rushed out that he was cornered into a conversation.

"Have you taken your medication?" The nurse asked politely as she brought out a bunch of objects that she would no doubt use to check his blood pressure and stuff like that.

"What medication?" Harry inquired, watching her with owlish eyes.

"For your psychopathic behavior?" The nurse pressed, a thin folder Harry recognized from Dr, Greenville's desk in her hand.

"I don't take medication. I'm not a psychopath if that's what you are implying," Harry answered curtly, head moving to stare at the wall. There was silence for a few seconds before the nurse gently placed a hand on his knee.

"I didn't mean a psychopath like that sweetie, I meant the actual disorder. You didn't choose to be born like this and you will find that it's not so bad," The nurse cooed to Harry's annoyance. While he was well educated, despite knowing he had a mental disorder he never actually bothered to search any up for himself. How foolish looking back.

"Linda, may I speak to the boy alone?" A stern doctor interrupted, a full bag of something Harry couldn't see held tightly in his hand. Linda, a name Harry found himself not really liking, gave him a reassuring smile before leaving. There was an abrupt silence, only cut off when the bag the doctor was holding fell from his hand.

"I had a talk with your psychiatrist, Dr. Greenville. Before he had asked me to supply him with different medications for a patient with conduct disorder. Considering your cousin is lying ill in another hospital bed with the same last name as the woman marked as your guardian on the forms I think I can safely assume you are Harry Potter?" The doctor asked, Harry just nodded, completely bored with talk about his illness and all the blasted doctors everywhere.

"The session you had early today leads us to believe you are a psychopath. Call it stereotyping if you must, but they tend to have this nature to kill in them. With the events highlighted in the report your Uncle sent us, I have no doubt you're behind your cousin's sudden illness. Your behavior while uncontrollable is unacceptable and has to be dealt with here with the best suitable medication we have before you are to be released. Understood?" The doctor barked out, Harry nodded quickly.

This was not good at all, his work all foiled just because they figured him out to be a what… psychopath? Dang.

"Now, I have gone through most of this medication and what worries me was that a common side effect was psychosis, which you obviously don't need to get stronger considering you probably already have it. I have talked to your aunt and she has agreed that we are able to put you on the drug Clonidine (Catapres). This should greatly reduce your violence and the side effects are quite beneficial too in your case," The doctor rambled, reaching behind him to knock on the door, most likely signaling the nurses.

"What side effects?" Harry whispered, completely at a loss on what was going on.

"Well for one dry mouth seems to be common along with dizziness during sudden movement. I personally hope for the drowsiness/ tiredness as it would give your personality disorder less time to resort to other means of manifesting without your violence, during such a critical time in your illness too this might just be your chance of staying a bit normal. There is a chance for constipation and being in a constant state of sedation but it's quite uncommon. I would again hope for the sedation side effect as it would rid you of your psychosis by numbing you to your urges. Today will be the hardest as this medication does give fevers. All side effects will eventually fade off," The doctor explained.

"And you really think I would take it?" Harry asked calmly, eyebrows raised as high as it has ever been before. The doctor only smirked.

Harry expected another lengthy explanation or something. What he hadn't expected was for his head to be seized by a nurse. Linda, Harry remembered, stood in front of him. Two pills in her hand as she moved to his front.

"I'm sorry sweetie, open up," The nurse urged as her partner secured the hold she had on Harry's face.

"Open up or I'll fucking close your damn nose and suffocate your sorry ass into oblivion," The nurse holding him growled, Harry could hear the doctor scoff and Linda saying something about language before his nose was in fact seized. When the need for air arose Harry began thrashing and right when he was seeing stars he opened his mouth to gasp for air.

Harry sputtered when water was quickly shoved down his throat, the pills no doubt following suit. Without room for breathing between the time it took for him to open his mouth and the water being shoved in, Harry gagged as he tried to get air through his clenched nose.

"Come on, let go of his nose," Harry heard Linda screech. Her cries fell on deaf ears as the person who was restricting his air kept their iron grip over his mouth despite the water and puke seeping through the cracks in their hand.

"He didn't sallow yet," Was the far away reply he got before feeling his body fall limply into unconsciousness.

When he came to Harry felt awful. The blasted fever his doctor had been talking about probably acting up. He was laying pitifully in his bed, throat burning as he lay there completely vulnerable to anyone who decided to come in.

A slow whimper escaped Harry's lips as his stomach twisted into extremely painful knots. He hadn't felt this weak since he was 4 when he was getting beat up by Dudley's friends at the time. He squirmed in discomfort as his hair stayed glued onto his head, hands shaking as they wrapped around his stomach. This was awful, _he_ felt awful.

What on earth was happening, for years things went his way and he was starting to think maybe he was finally being like his Uncle. That he would be on top. So why was it failing him now? Was he not high enough? A quick gasp escaped through his lips as Harry sat up quickly. The dizziness was immediate but manageable as he turned towards the floor from where he sat and promptly threw up.

Breathing became difficult as he kept going until he was dry heaving onto the floor. Stars danced in his eyes as his body shook from fatigue. Harry would never admit it, but he wished for his parents now. Would he have turned out differently without being exposed to violence at a young age? Harry didn't doubt he would have. Either way, someone rubbing his back and telling him things would be okay would be nice. Selfish, but nice.

"You're awake! You slept for hours dear, long enough for the medication to take effect," Linda whispered softly, somehow aware of something Harry himself was missing.

I'm sorry for our staff's behavior, knocking you out like that was not the procedure," Linda continued, placing something warm next to Harry's aching stomach. A simple nod was all she got as Harry curled around the soothing heating pad, eyes drooping as sleep threatened to overtake him now that his main discomfort had been taken care of. He was faintly aware that the nurse hadn't left yet. No doubt cleaning his mess. It wasn't until she placed a cool napkin over his head that Harry fell asleep.

When he awoke again, he was feeling a bit better. Looking around, Harry realized he was surrounded by darkness, no doubt because it was night time or fairly close to early morning. Normally, mischief was the first course of actions in situations like these but Harry was still feeling a bit under the weather and eerily calm. Maybe it was the medication, but Harry just didn't have the motivation it took to get up and go causing trouble. The sedation part of the medication? How lucky.

Flipping onto his stomach, Harry let out a content sigh as he buried his head and slept off. The next day wasn't as fun as the first. Harry turned out sicker then both days and couldn't even lift himself off the bed to throw up. The doctors, in turn, had no idea what to do with him. While putting him in a breathing mask was the ideal choice, it would greatly backfire if Harry were to throw up into the tank.

It wasn't until the third day at the hospital, a whole day before his birthday, that Harry could feel himself getting better. In the spam of his sickness, Harry was still to take the medication that got him into this mess in the first place and was warned against deciding not to take it anymore. Something about a huge backlash with the choice, a withdrawal of some sort. Harry was not tempted to challenge his doctors and their uncanny ability to just know these things.

That's how Harry found himself lying awake on his hospital bed late at night, curled around his pillow as he listened to the sounds of footsteps and voices varying in pitch and intensity crossing the outside of his room. His mind drifted to Dudley, who was probably a lot more miserable then he himself had been the last few days. Even with his violence greatly reduced, and with the sedation in place, Harry couldn't find it in himself to feel sorry for the boy.

With a pause, Harry turned in his bed to face the ceiling. If he was being completely honest, even when his plan backfired so quickly and nothing he was hoping for came to pass, Harry couldn't find it in himself to regret any of his actions. No, they could still work in his favor, he just needed to change tactics.

An idea came to mind instantly, a tactic Harry had experienced first hand. The scowl that normally would have formed at the thought of _her_ was overcome by a lopsided smirk. His borrowed tactic would, of course, need a few tweaking for improvement and extreme dedication to follow through. The effort he was about to put in, however, was enough to make him call quits. It would all be worth it to see the devastation on _her_ face after he outdid _her_ at her own game.

Harry sighed as he looped his finger round and round in a circle in front of his face, different ideas popping up at random to perfect the new mask he was about to put on. The new and improved Harry Potter.

Somewhere between plotting and boredom, Harry fell asleep. Sleeping seemed to be a thing he had been doing a lot lately, not that it was a bad thing. What shook him out of his blissful sleep late in the night was the pounding of heavy boots. Considering Harry was in a hospital, he immediately assumed it was the doctors bringing in another patient. How odd there was no shouting though.

All too soon the sounds of those boots faded and Harry repositioned himself to return to sleep when his room door suddenly opened. Dull light from the hallway streamed in as a giant man stood there, white envelope with a red seal clenched in his hand. The man was odd, dressed in a long shirt and pants that looked so outdated that it probably couldn't have been sold at any shop Harry knew. It was the middle of the summer nonetheless.

The man gave him a crooked smile, one that symbolized the strings of recognition and pure happiness. Stepping forward, the man entered the room, letting the door close on its own behind him as he blended in with the room's darkness. Harry tried to refrain from sighing as he heard the sounds of shuffling from within the darkness. It was only when he heard a loud thud that obviously meant the man had tripped over something and fallen to the ground that Harry spoke up.

"The lights are to the right you know," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes without an ounce of fear in his body. It is pitiful that he had been outsmarted by the likes of these people.


End file.
